A Silent Fleur de Lys Trumpets
by Resucitated-Blue
Summary: Set the night before the capture of Joan of Arc (Jeanne D'arc) , France is trying hard to fall asleep. He is with the young girl and reminiscing over all she has done. This is a semi-accurate historical One-sided! JeannexFrancis story. Intended to be tragic.


Author's Note: First of all, this is a One-Sided! JeannexFrance story. Please if this couple is not to your liking, read if you wish, but don't bash.

I didn't plan to upload such a serious fic but I must well get all of the ones i have written before posted. I will probably not post another one like this again.

This was originally a story written in French for French class. I will be posting that version up but my French is neither entirely fluent nor correct (4 years of French immersion...sigh...). So I'm still fixing the large amount of grammar errors and story flow in that version.

Some French words/Dialogue kept for effect. Translations in *the asterisks*

Romance isn't my typical genre so this story might seem a little cheesy. Heads up for a little historical basis! Also, this story interprets France to be more than a flirt.

Enjoy?

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><p>The 15th century sun had disappeared behind the green horizon about half an hour ago. It was far too dim with its absence so we decided to stay the night in an abandoned stable. It was a warm spring night after all.<p>

On the wooden wall we both tried to sleep but in my worried state that was impossible. On the other hand, the young girl who was almost a woman beside me slept soundly almost instantly. Fifteen minutes have passed since then.

"Francis…" she whispered softly.

Soft and gentle like a butterfly of new found beginnings, the word fluttered to my ear. I'm caught off guard so I quickly gave a small smile as a silent reply.

For me, the name is familiar. So why did this sound have such a strange effect on me? This tone of insecurity and confusion, twisted the guts of my stomach. It was as if I was a new bird learning how to fly by falling first.

Subtly, the girl leaned and rested on my shoulder. Such a fragile light movement, it reminded me that she was still a girl. And as a girl, a fact she cannot deny, she would not seem to act like it at all. Among most of her moments, she could be as tough and most importantly stubborn like a man.

It was so frustrating that she wouldn't listen to me. What she was doing was dangerous to begin with plain and simple. On top of that, she refuses to stop and listen to my requests. I know her audacious personality has reclaimed a bit more of land for me and it's brought hope to those fighting. Even though what she had done has brought amazing results does not make the dangers go away. There will always be the risk of falling to ruins.

However, whenever I try to convince her to stay back, I get some rather pointed words back. During all of my life so far, I cannot recall a girl that can talk back like her. Where was her ladylike attitude? Perhaps it was hidden underneath that mop she called her hair.

She didn't care for appearance nor wished to waste any time on it. Despite the displeasure and harsh judgments people would give her, she would rather spend hours training by herself or among the soldiers. Their disapproval didn't bother her. In fact, they brought even more motivation for her to prove her worth. You wouldn't want to be an obstacle in her way. Without a doubt, she worked hard to get here and it shames me a little.

The two of us, are really polar opposites. As the nation's personification, I live like a rich nobleman, well liked, well-known and great friends with the king. She was only a peasant. She would never twiddle her thumbs or attend to royal events in fancy amusing costume. I, on the other hand, was never without money.

That's not to say I am completely spoiled and stuck up. Against what is commonly believed, I loved sneaking out to the country side and avoiding the political drama that haunts the polished halls. They gave such a throbbing headache. Besides that, I have always felt that my heart lies among all the people of my land, not just the rich. But I could not live their lives; at least not since the bourgeois still hold most of the influence. However, that was not the issue at hand right now; it was this war that tortured me the most.

My worries over her did not help and her stubbornness since the day I have met her have never changed. This hasn't been the first time I have attempted to persuade her to stay back. This also hasn't been the first time she has replied by calling me "un lâche *a coward*" How many times today has she said that word? Far too much, I suppose.

With those words, nostalgia took over my mind and flooded it with a single memory. Yes, I could recall clearly the first time we met. How I regarded her with such bitter criticism. But those things change over time, for how could I possibly know her daring determination and beautiful moral from her looks. That would be impossible, even for me.

"Levez-vous! * get up*" she had yelled at me while I was taking a nap in the middle of a field. Her shout had awoken me up so abruptly I nearly shrieked with fear.

Her looks weren't the best to wake up to either. She had hair like medusa but the locks weren't really hissing serpents. Not that she has changed it a bit after the years.

Our first encounter brought up many questions from me for her. Who was this witch? What did she want? Did she not know I was trying to rest?

Politely, with manners that all should be taught, I asked, «Pourquoi mademoiselle? *Why young lady?* »

The sun had stopped to shine down on this particular spot and I would rather not move. Anyways, I was at the time suffering from another headache. Rest would be best.

After a few minutes she didn't respond so I decided to ignore her to close my eyes once again. Soft steps walking on the grass entered my ears so I figured she had left. No, this girl would never be that easy to discourage.

What I didn't know was that she had started to circle me like a vulture. A little while later she started to kick me lightly. Insistent and irritating words followed suite and refused to stop. With a sigh, I gave up and complied with her earlier request. A small cute smile speared on that face.

Intently I stared at her, « Qui êtes vous? *who are you*» Normally the peasants would treat the noble people with respect. She was obviously ignoring that. Curious, I wanted to at least know the name of this mad woman.

Her response was short and quick, « Jeanne. *Joan* »

Quickly, she continued to explain to me her ideas to free my lands from that particular man. He was a man of that bloody red cross. How dare he try to have claim over my lands and furthermore attack me in my already weak divided state!

One chance, she had begged me, just one. When pigs fly I had thought. We were already losing and there seems to be no hope. How could she even believe that she could accomplish the impossible?

My reply was « Répéter en bon français s'il vous plait. *repeat in proper french please*»

« Je peux vous aider! J'ai les messages de Dieu et les visions des saints qui diraient de sauver vos terres avec la restauration du roi. C'est vrai! *I can help you! I have messages from God and visions from saints to save your lands by restoring the king. It's true!»

I let out my surpressed laughter «Vous êtes seulement une fille! *You're only a girl!* »

« Et _vous_ êtes un lâche ignorant! *and _you_ are an ignorant coward!* »

After an intense debate with more insults hurled at me, I allowed her to give her a chance and so did the general. Soon afterwards, this chance brought an incredible victory on her side. Jeanne gained the respect and the trust of many against all odds. She was my last hope.

Back to the present, a lot has happened since then. We are able to fight back against the English and the people have begun to believe. I have come to believe. But still, why wouldn't she at least take in considerations my pleas. Her success has made her a reasonable threat and one that the enemy would wish to capture. And personally, I have rising suspicions on that 'good' Phillip that has been sneaking around. It was too soon to act on that though.

I just don't know how to deal with women anymore. They're all just too difficult to understand. Wait no, only this one.

My attention returned to Jeanne, a girl far too young for this. Her face was distorted with an anxious expression. Her hands within her sliver gloves clasped around the crucifix that she always wore. It was typical for her to do this when she was worried. Jeanne really loved to pray. Almost all the time, she was in prayer.

When I glanced at the slightly ajar door, I could see the night had become darker. Tomorrow would be another busy stressful day. I could feel something or someone was waiting for her. Today, I attempted to persuade her away from going to Campiègne. That was why we were walking alone one on one away from the attention of the public. Sadly, she was stubborn and would not change her mind.

All of a sudden, I remembered the present I had for her. I had picked the thing during my morning stroll on my horse. This one was the largest I had seen in the wild in this particular region. Once I had taken it out of the soil, the wind grew strong as if it wanted to take the gift away from me. I kept it safe in my left chest pocket. I took out. Luckily it wasn't crushed at all.

« Se réveiller *wake up*, » i shook her gently, « Vous pouvez rester plus après. Je vous promis. C'est pour un petit moment. Il ne peut pas attendre… *You can rest more afterwards. I promise you. This is only for a little moment. It cannot wait…»

When she woke up, a gasp escaped her lips. A grand smile appeared on that face and there was a twinkle in her eyes. Without the hardship of the day, this angel revealed to me her humble beauty. Her unabashed smile.

« Francis, un lys! » she delicately held the flower between her rough hands. Her posture straightened and it showed a bit of pride. The lily appeared to almost trumpet the joy that Jeanne had.

«Notre fleur préférée. *Our favorite flower*» I added.

« Francis, merci, » she gazed sincerely into my eyes for a sweet moment. I longed for the moment to stand still, for time to give me a break just this once. I did not to think of the endless life that stretched before me. Alas, it did not last and she finally turned away. Jeanne yawned, turned away on her side and went back to sleep.

As happy I was that she liked my present for her, there was a bitter taste in my mouth. A gnawing feeling of morose advanced on my heart. With a surrendering sigh, I turned to the opposite direction. What if she had replied in another way? What did I really want her to say?

There was no fooling myself. What I wanted would never happen. She could never say it. She was an independent woman, an attitude that went beyond her time, with her goals and ideals clearly set. And I was a country anyways. However, that didn't stop my longing for it.

On my tongue, I hid this secret. Every day, I wished to confess this secret to her. She was strong, courageous, stubborn and overall an incredible woman that captivated all of my attention. Nevertheless, the same could not be for me. I stole a quick glance at her and I saw that she was already out like a rock. She would not be able to hear me. So like a ghost waltzing softly into the night, I released my secret.

"Je t'aime. *I love you*"

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><p>Historical notes:<p>

Jeanne d'arc is a well-known Catholic saint and a national hero of France. She was incredibly young since she started at age 14 and died at 19. She led French armies towards victories in the Hundred Year's War with a significant victory at Orleans. She is captured at Campiègne (1430) by the Burgandians (English supporters), tried unfairly then burned for heresy. Her heart could not be burned and was tossed into the river out of fear. Good Phillip, a traitorous nobleman, has been linked to her capture in a few of the sources I have read.

France at this time is barely united and is very weak. In fact the personification should be a ghost before he meets Jeanne but for the purpose of this story he is not. There was no real king on the throne, people spoke different dialects and the boundaries constantly changed. Technically they shouldn't even be speaking French but to ease my troubles please excuse that.

The Hundred Years war had started because of an English claim on the French throne. Armies controlled various provinces and regions in France.


End file.
